


The game of names

by Montydeeks



Category: NCIS: Los Angeles
Genre: Heavy Angst, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-06
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-12-24 15:56:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12016113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Montydeeks/pseuds/Montydeeks
Summary: It would be great if childhood could last forever. In another life, perhaps.





	The game of names

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Il gioco dei nomi](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/321390) by montydeeks. 



The game of names  
  
  
1985, the game.  
“Marty, let's play the game of names... are you ready?" she asks laughingly, and he nods eagerly.   
“If I say Aquaman, you say?”  
“Orin… Arthur Curry.”  
“Brilliant! And if I say... Hawkeye?”  
“Clint Barton… Clinton, Francis Burton” he answers confidently after thinking about it for a while.  
“You're very good... do you like superheroes, Marty?” she asks again, messing with his hair.  
“C'mon, Mum... no” he moves away, annoyed. He's a grown up, now: that cissy stuff doesn't suit a six-year-old boy.   
“I like 'em a lot... just like you do, Mum” he says, and he embraces her with abandon, laughing and drowning her in kisses.  
  
  
1990, the shot.  
“Marty, no! Marty, no!” She is unable to say anything else.  
The blast of the shot has remained in the air with a greyish cloud.  
She turns to the direction the lament is coming from.  
“Oh, Gordie… Gordon” she flails her outstretched arms. She doesn't know where to look, her eyes darting from her husband to her child.  
The man on the ground wheezes; the boy glances at him from above, clenching the still smoking gun. His eyes are cold, his mouth bent downwards in a surge of repulsion.  
  
  
1987, Gordon.  
His feet flail without touching the ground, that hand is clutching the neck of his jumper.  
“Speak louder, I can't hear you” the man grapples him; his breath reeks of alcohol as usual.  
“Dad...” he utters in a thin voice, but the ogre lifts him up even more.  
“No "Dad"... what you gotta say, sissy? 'cause you're a sissy, you... with this hair!” and he laughs, pulling his hair back and twisting his neck.  
"Leave him alone, Gordie... He didn't want to... Let him go" his wife pleads him, trying not to annoy him even more.  
He dodges her unkindly.  
"No! What d'ya have to say, Marty? Are ya a male, Marty? Or a girlie with a girlie's name and girlie's hair?" he presses, and when he sees his son's scared eye, the intensity of his rage goes through the roof. With a single hand he clenches his whole face, squeezing his jaw by applying a strong grip.  
"I swear to God I'm gonna destroy this face of yours... what d'ya say?" he snarls spitting everywhere in the heat of the moment.  
"Yeffuh..." the child babbles in fright.  
"What are ya sayin', wimp?" his father asks with bloodshot eyes.  
"Yes, sir" he finally says, and Gordon laughs with his mouth wide open, stinking the air up with his foul.  
As he's still holding him, he shakes him one last time; then he slams him on the floor.   
By tomorrow his bones are going to hurt, he already knows that; for now, he just thinks of turning around to find her with his eyes.  
"Mum..." he calls for her stretching one hand, and she makes to get close to him when Gordon's foot comes down to keep them apart.  
"If you touch him, I stomp on you like a bunch of grapes" he warns her, and she curls around herself with her knees touching her chest.  
"Mum, help me" he calls for her again, but she shakes her head and signals him to be quiet. She hopes wholeheartedly that her husband could exit that room and leave them alone, and that his fury could vanish just like it came.   
  
  
1990, the shot.  
"What have you done, Marty? Oh, Marty... what have you done, my child?" she asks, suddenly sober. He turns around and approaches her menacingly.  
"I've done what you should've done!" he says waving the gun by her face.  
The woman gets away in fear, and see if his husband is still alive: he is. Crawling on all fours she reaches for the phone that fell on the floor during the struggle. The boy puts it under his foot and shakes his head no to her.  
"He must suffer" he hisses through his pink lips, so tumid and prosperous-looking that remind her of the lips of a doll.  
"He's your father, Marty... your Dad..." she says, but she's already starting to drag her speech again, as if the adrenaline rush she felt has subsided in a moment.   
The boy bends his long legs and looks into her eyes, disgusted.  
"Don't talk to me, you goddamn coward... you and this bastard here will no longer hurt me" he growls in a voice that doesn't sound like his.   
What is saying and the tone he's displaying are totally out of place with that delicate face of his, and his voice sounds terribly serious for his age.  
That's why his words are like blades shining in the absolute darkness of his eyes.   
He stands up, and with a sweeping gesture of his leg he kicks the phone away to the other side of the room.  
  
  
1987, Malice.  
"We have our wonderful world, Marty... play with me... let's play names" she says with her mouth kneaded.  
"Let's play tomorrow... I'm tired, Mum" her son complains.  
"But it's not late, stay here with me" she persists, and pulls him close to herself.  
"Did you have dinner?" she asks, and he nods, although two slices of bread with peanut butter can't certainly be called  "dining". What does a kid know to eat in order to mantain himself healthy?!  
A little numb, she turns around to grab her glass and bottle, but he is faster and gets them away from her.   
"You said that who drinks, becomes like Dad... why have you started drinking, too? Do you wanna become like him?" he displays a forlorn tone and she looks at him doe-eyed, signalling him to give the items he's holding in his hands back to her.   
"Do I beat you up like Dad does?" she asks, and he shakes his head no. "I love you a great deal, Marty; I'll never beat you up... even if I drink a little, I'm always your mother... I'm a good mother, am I not? and she nods until she persuades him, and she sees a smile peeking through. "Be a good son, then... gimme that bottle; be good to your mother", she whines, and after swagging down the usual two thumbs of vodka she hold him tight kissing his forehead.  
The child grasps her and they curl themselves up together on the sofa.  
"It's just the two of us, we're sleeping holding each other... and as you fall to sleep, tell me who you wish you were" she cuddles him in a calm voice.  
"I've thought about being Norrin Radd, Mum" he says turning his back; she holds him and pulls him against herself.  
"How nice... and you go around all covered in silver?" she laughs, and he gladly follows her.  
"Yep, uaah" he stratches his lips and opens his arm keeping them still. "He flies away with his board... I could do it on the sea... can you take me by the sea, Mum?" he asks full of hope.  
"D'ya know who you remind me of, Marty? You're blonde and sweet... you're so nice, and so strong because of that... Being like Norrin isn't your thing... you could be like Malice" she thinly murmurs, completely at the mercy of alcoholic vapors.  
Her son turns around to look at her.  
"But Malice is bad" he says all at once.  
She takes his hands and speaks at a low voice.  
"When Malice is there, can anybody hurt Susan?" the boy shakes his head no, as he's listening intently to his mother. "Malice is bad and defends Susan, who's good... But no one can tell Malice and Susan apart... if you become like Malice, you are yourself, and when you aren't yourself, nobody can know that... That's cool, isn't it?" she says amusingly, ranting before his son's wide open eyes. "Become Malice... and no one will be able to hurt you" she concludes tiredly, and in few minutes she falls asleep with his son in her arms, who's unable to fall asleep anymore despite of being late and him having school tomorrow.  
  
  
1990, the shot.  
He doesn't care about his mother, who's trying to retreive the item to call 911, and gets near the man groaning and curled around himself on the ground, and he stares at him as if he's a repulsing beast. He gets down on his haunches and with arrogant, jaunty physicality he keeps himself balancing on the tip of his toes, pushing the mouth of the gun against his father's thigh.  
"Are you scared of me, now?" he asks sneering, but his eyes are similar to a shark's. "Don't let me see you again, Gordon" he quietly hisses in a real, proper menacing tone.  
His mother tries to knock his back with her own hands, but she's so drunk that she doesn't even faze him; she stumbles and falls to the ground again. She shakes her head, crying.  
"Where's my sweet Martin? Where's my blonde kid?" she inquires, and he looks at her nodding.  
"He's safe, I'll take care of him" he calmly replies.  
In hearing those words, she seems to wake up again. She runs the tip of her tongue over her lips, dries her eyes and sits clumsily straight as she dares raise a skew smile.  
"Yeah, let's play the names, shall we, Marty? Who are you? What's your name, today? Oliver Queen? No, no, wait... Matt Murdock?" her voice is trembling as she moves his hair away from his forehead. She wants to distract and calm him down, but he escapes those attentions; he glances at her with a frown as he stands up; then, he exhales from his nostrils in relax.  
"My name's Max Gentry", he says, and goes out to sit on the stairs of the porch.  
  
  
1990, before the shot.  
"Go and get me another beer!" his father orders, and he gets up quickly from the table.  
As comes back, Gordon John Brandel's blue eyes stare him down.  
"You grew, you skinny sack of bones... Did ya bang some li'l bitch?" he gurgles, looking at him curiously.  
"For goodness sake, Gordie, he's eleven... it's a bit soon for him for those kind of things!" her mother exclaims in giggles; she isn't drinking beer, but vodka, and she's already tipsy at that hour.  
Marty knows very well what they are talking about, but it's something that doesn't concern him: he isn't interested in girls very much, yet.  
“When I was tall like him, I was already out getting laid” the grump goes on as he runs his hand over his chin, scratching his beard. “D'ya like girls or are you a faggot?" he asks loutishly.  
The kid stays silent, then his father slams a single hand on the table making the four things on it quake.  
Marty sigh inaudibly; he has to answer, so that maybe Gordon will stop.  
“Yes, I like them” he says, almost being ashamed of it; they aren't exactly running elbows and he doesn't like to talk about those issues.  
“So go out, then... you're tall, you're a pretty boy... with your blonde hair you can't scare anybody... they're gonna trust you” he blathers, and squeezes his shoulder with one hand; “are we clear?”  
“Yes, Dad” he answers with his eyes down, hoping that he will let go of him, because his grip seems like a pair of pliers and it hurts him. His mother shifts on her chair.  
“Dad is right... you're very tall for your age, Marty, and in few years you're gonna get even taller and muscle up... you'll be really handsome... you'll have to chase them away, the women...” she says as she caresses his hand, searching for support in his son whom raises a smile pretending to appreciate that conversation.  
“Did I tell you can talk?” Gordon growls to her wife; “You always get in the way, you stupid little woman... you talk, and talk... you must keep your mouth shut” he yells, standing up and making his chair fall backwards.  
“C'mon, Gordie... we're dining... we're talking, don't get mad, please” she murmurs in a pleading voice.  
“Let it go, Dad... talk me about the girls” Marty intervenes hoping to distract him, but his father pushes him away making him fall from his chair.  
“Another bug raisin' his voice” he grunts facing his son. “You wanna talk, you bug? Men don't talk, they fight each other... show me how you defend yourself” he shouts. He's lurching, but Marty is afraid anyway, and tries to flee.  
Despite being drunk, Gordie is quick and he's also very tall and huge: there is no way out for Martin.   
“Dad, no... Please, no” he's almost crying, but his father grabs his foot pulling him towards himself, and lands a kick on his back leaving him breatheless.  
“Enough, Gordon… stop it!” his mother screams as she's still sitting at the table; the man turns around to face her and he looks absolutely inhuman. Frothing at the mouth, he points her with a single finger.  
“Be quiet, there, you vile coward... if he takes the blows, you're safe” he says, and he turns towards his son again.   
It's true; he beats up only one at time, but so far it has been a long time since he last laid a hand on her: Marty always intervenes and instead of being protected by her it's the other way around.  
She closes her eyes, she tries to shrink as much as she can and hopes not to hear his blonde kid crying. She would like to do something, but she is too scared of Gordon. She's afraid of him, but she loves him; she wants to stay with him: he's been her true love since school times. Despite many years of abuse she's never thought of leaving him. Gordon is her weakness.  
When he is done, G.J. Brandel grabs his shirt and exits his home belching; he got satisfaction in teaching that brash a lesson!  
Marty is sitting between the wall and the fridge. He sniffles and hastily dries his eyes. His shirt is mangled and he's lost a sandal.  
His mother approaches him and gives it to him as she reaches him.  
He gets it on without pulling the velcro straps, then he takes his shirt off and checks the long rip with his fingers. He tries to avoid it in every way, but a huge tear escapes his eye, and he buries his face in his t-shirt bursting into tears desperately.  
“It's my favorite t-shirt” he tearfully says as his mother stares at him quietly and beholds how the blows he received starts standing out against his snow-white skin. She embraces him, strocking his head.  
“I can't take this anymore, Mum... I don't wanna see him anymore” he sobs in her dandling arms.  
“Marty… your father isn't bad... his work is very tiring and when he gets drunk he doesn't know what he's doing anymore... whenever he beats you up, just think about the game of names and imagine who you wanna be” she attempts pacifying him, but he shakes his head.  
“How can I think about names? It really hurts... I don't want him here anymore” he pursues firmly.  
“We're family, Marty… families sticks together... your Dad lives here and we live with him” she says, sweetly and obstinately.  
She feels his son's arms loosen; the little boy looks up and eyes her with a harsh gaze for a very long time.  
“Why do you always defend him? Why don't you defend me?” he inquires in terrifying truthfulness; he evades his mother's embrace and springs up towards the door.  
“Where are you going?” he yells at him, agitated.  
“I'm going to Ray” he replies without turning back.   
After getting in the fallow garden, he moves the web fence enough to pass through it and walks away at a quick pace.  
With premature dignity he slides his shirt inside his pants in order not to show his troubles, shakes his blonde head and stops crying.  
  
  
1990, the shot.  
Standing by the police car, Max watches his father being loaded into the ambulance and his mother desperately gesturing with her hands in her hair, then on her mouth, then wrinkling her nightgown, trying to explain what occured to the cop.  
She never looks towards her son, and this attitude catches the cop's attention, whom approaches the boy.  
“Are you fine?” he kindly asks.  
“Yes... thank you, sir” he answers, without getting his eyes off of his mother.  
“What happened, why did you shot at him?” he asks, still mantaining that calm, quiet tone.  
“He could've killed us... It was him, or us” the boy states as he runs his hand over the swollen cut he has under his jaw; his eyes always fixed on her.  
“Did you get checked out?” the agent inquires, and Max shrugs.  
“It's nothing” he mumbles. He doesn't feel pain at all; he just wants her, he wants her to turn and look at him.  
The cop turns to his partner with a gesture and opens the door next to Max.  
“We're going to the department... Don't be afraid, everything will go fine” the guard says, and as he puts his hand on his head, that mechanical gesture he does every time he charges someone becomes a caress. He thinks he's an adult, with his height and his very sad and serious gaze, yet he's just a little boy searching for his mother's eyes.  
The woman doesn't do that until the very end; then, when the police car is about to leave, she ultimately looks up to seek for her son. They look into each other's eyes just for a couple of seconds, because as soon as he has gotten her attention Max turns his head away to look in front of himself.  
  
“Could you turn off the siren, please?” he asks almost whispering.  
“Sure... It's such a pain to me as well” the cop answers as he accomodates him.   
“Thank you, sir” he replies politely.  
He lowers his head and rubs the injured chin on his favorite shirt.   
He will never look into his mother's eyes again; never again.

**Author's Note:**

> In this fic I describe a coward mother, so affected by her husband to the point of sacrificing his son; also, being idle and negligent, she manipulates him with comics and coaxing.   
> I gave life to Max Gentry and I touch upon why Martin loves comics and his hair.  
> Sorry for "only" Marvel, but it's my favourite universe.  
> Heartfelt thanks to PoemDestoyer25 for translating and making this release possible.   
> Monty
> 
> P.S. Martin Deeks and Max Gentry are just like Susan Storm Richards and Malice… with the difference that Malice can be mean to an instictive level. She appears for the first time in FF280, 7/84, in "Thell them all they love must die", an amazing story: with no effort, Malice fights and take out the males from the Fantastic Four, delivering to Marvel one of its strongest and most lethal supervillain. Susan Storm won't be the same anymore: it ain't easy living together with such a naughty dark side. And that reminds me of Martin and his coexistence with Max.
> 
> Disclaimer: I didn't create Martin A. Marty Deeks, Gordon John Brandel, Max Gentry, Oliver Queen, Matt Murdock, Aquaman, Orin Arthur Curry, Hawkeye, Clinton Clint Francis Barton, Norrin Radd, Malice, Susan and Ray Martindale. Too bad!


End file.
